Binggum got his first whiff of the chase when I rose up behind CJ’s chair when it was time for me to brief and I stood at the foot of the table near the slide show only long enough for Binggum to get me completely in his sights. I then walked back to stand beside him at the head of the table for much of my briefing. I could tell that he was hooked because of the thorough once-over he gave me while I was near the slide screen and by the way his eyes were glued to my crotch as I came over beside him. The definitely male musk cologne I was wearing couldn’t have hurt. For most of my briefing, his eyes remained plastered to me rather than to the slides that were flipping at the front of the room.

Suddenly, Binggum became much more interested in CJ’s proposal, and he asked fewer questions. By midafternoon, he seemed irritated if anyone else in the room dared to ask a penetrating or complex question, and he finally just waved all of his people away and said he wanted to discuss the final details with CJ “and his staff” alone. When the room had cleared, I gave a meaningful look at CJ and then turned to Binggum and asked if I could use the nearby men’s room before we restarted the discussions. Binggum said that was a fine idea and that he’d also take a men’s room break. CJ said he was just fine, thank you very much, and would set up the next part of the briefing while we were gone.

Binggum ushered me to a very plush executive washroom right next to the conference room. I went up to the bank of wash basins, while Binggum saddled up to a urinal. I was delighted to see that there were no barriers between the urinals.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered. “Is that a coffee stain I see on my shirt?” I looked into the mirror and made like I saw some sort of blotch. Without another word, I took my coat off and hung it on a stall door. And then, turning three-quarters toward where Binggum was standing up to a urinal, his eyes glued to me, I slowly unbuttoned and peeled off my shirt and held it out to inspect it. I was fully aware that my biceps were rippling in the effort and that I was fully exposed down to a slight curl of pubic hair above my trousers.

I made a few clucking sounds and acted like I must just be wrong, that I couldn’t find any coffee stains on my shirt. But, rather than put it back on, I draped it on top of my coat on the stall door and slowly walked toward Binggum. I approached the bank of urinals and, leaving two urinals between us, I moved in toward one—but not too close. I again turned a bit so that Binggum would get a full view of the action. I unzipped my tight pants and peeled them down onto my hips.